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LIFE   OR    DEATH, 

VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN. 

^  JDiacourse, 

PREACHED    ON    THE    OCCASION    OF    THE    DEATH    OF 

WILLIAM    EDGAR    BAKER, 

SEPTEMBER   27,    1846. 


/ 

BY  V' 

CHARLES  K.  IMBRIE, 

PASTOR    OF    THE    FIRST    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH, 
RAHWAY,     N.     J. 


NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS, 

285  BROADWAY. 
1851. 


R.   CRAIGHBAD,  PRINTKR, 
112  FDLTON  STREET. 


As  the  object  of  this  publication  was  to  secure  some 
memento  of  the  decased,  a  considerable  portion  of  the  dis- 
course, not  strictly  necessary  to  this  end,  has  been  omitted, 
for  the  sake  of  brevity.  This  will  account  for  the  dis- 
jointed appearance  of  some  of  its  parts.  It  was  first 
delivered  at  Rahway,  August  23,  and  afterwards  repeated, 
with  slight  alterations,  in  the  Broome  Street  Church,  New 
York,  of  which  the  deceased  was  a  member,  by  request  of 
the  young  men  of  that  church. 


DISCOURSE. 


"  For  to  me  to  live  is  Christ  and  to  die  is  gain."— 
Philippians  I.  21. 

You  have  here  depicted  in  a  line,  the 
noble  attitude  of  the  true  Christian.  He 
is  a  man  who  stands  on  the  confines  be- 
tween this  world  and  the  next.  He  looks 
abroad  upon  both.  Life  is  valuable,  very 
valuable  to  him  ;  for  in  it,  he  has  that 
which  angels  might  covet — the  opportunity 
to  glorify  Christ.  "To  live  is  Christ." 
Death  is  valuable,  very  valuable  to  him  ; 
for  it  introduces  him  to  the  unveiled  pre- 
sence of  his  father,  God.     On  the  one  side, 


6  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

he  sees  that  he  can  show  to  an  ungodly  and 
gainsaying  world,  the  complete  control 
which  the  Lord  Jesus  has  over  his  heart. — 
Here  he  can  labor  to  bring  others  to  taste 
that  grace,  whose  transforming  and  sus- 
taining efficacy  he  has  felt  throughout  his 
own  soul ;  here,  by  an  upright  life,  he  can 
prove  that  this  despised  gospel  does  teach 
men  that,  "  denying  ungodliness  and  unholy 
lusts,  they  are  to  live  soberly,  righteously, 
and  godly  in  this  present  world  ;"  here  he 
can  show  that  in  the  furnace  of  affliction, 
One  walketh  with  the  Christian  "like  unto 
the  Son  of  God ;" — and  though  the  world 
sneers  at  the  doctrine,  that  while  the  Chris- 
tian lives,  it  is  not  he  that  lives,  but  Christ 
that  liveth  in  him,  he  can  here  stand  forth 
as  the  proof  that  faith  does  draw  a  living 
power  from  her  absent  Lord,  and  that,  like 
the  full  moon  shedding  down  its  calm  light 
on  the  earth,  he  feels  the  existence  and 
the  brightness  of  his  absent  "  Sun  of  right- 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN,  7 

eousness,"   from   whom   he   derives  all  his 
power. 

But,  on  the  other  side — there,  is  the  wel- 
come of  his  Lord  and  Saviour  and  the  end  of 
his  labors,  sorrows,  temptations — there  is 
the  end  of  sin — there  is  all  his  heart  has  so 
long  wished  for — perfect  freedom  from  the 
least  defilement — there  is  the  company  of 
the  blessed — there  is  the  full  enjoyment  of 

God  to  all  eternity. 

#  *  *  #  * 

You  see  thus,  what  a  lively  interest 
the  Christian  has  in  both  worlds.  It  is 
noble  for  him  to  live — it  is  glorious  for 
him  to  die.  He,  alone,  of  all  men,  can 
wisely  hesitate  between  the  two.  The  man 
of  this  world  hugs  his  earthly  treasures 
as  his  all,  and  dares  not  think  of  the  world 
to  come  ;  but  the  Christian  loses  not  his 
interest  in  the  one  or  the  other.  Earth  is 
always  worth  living  for — for  Christ's  sake, 
and  heaven  is  worth  dying  for — for  Christ's 


•"Itnra  I-  ^mtm^tix, 


ifc^iai     1-    I 


8  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

sake.  Yes,  my  hearers,  amidst  the  disgust 
and  the  insipid  pleasures  of  the  crowd,  to 
whom  this  world  is  their  all,  the  Christian 
is  the  only  man  who  at  times  hardly  knows 
which  to  choose,  whether  life  or  death.  At 
one  time,  forgetting  even  his  own  future 
glory,  as  he  looks  upon  the  desolation  of 
Zion,  he  exclaims,  with  Isaiah,  "For  the 
grave  cannot  praise  thee — Death  cannot 
celebrate  thee  ;  the  living,  the  living,  he 
shall  praise  thee,  as  I  do  this  day."  .Or, 
with  Paul,  oppressed  with  cares,  worn  out 
with  labors,  tried  even  to  death  with  perse- 
cutors, and  yet  seeing  a  value  in  life  for 
Christ's  sake,  he  cries,  "  What  I  shall  choose 
I  wot  not — I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two." 

You  see  here,  my  hearers,  that  the  Chris- 
tian is  ready  for  and  rejoices  in  anything : 
he  is  ready  for  life — he  is  ready  for  death. 
If  God  appoints  him  life,  he  rejoices  in  it — 
if  that  life  is  to  lead  him  through  severe 
sufferings,    he     bears    them    patiently    for 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  9 

Christ's  sake — if  it  is  to  be  worn  out  with 
labor,  he  rejoices  still ; — but  when,  in  the 
midst  of  his  labors,  he  hears  the  voice  of 
God,  suddenly  calling,  "  Come  up  hither," 
then,  indeed,  is  his  joy  turned  into  exalta- 
tion. There  is  for  him  no  more  labor,  no 
more  sorrow  or  sighing,  no  more  trials. 
The  door  opens  wide,  and  he  sees  in  pros- 
pect the  glory  of  God  and  the  Lamb. 
He  sees  the  glorious  company  of  the  saints, 
with  golden  harps  in  their  hands.  Soon,  he  is 
to  be  among  them — and  that  longing  aspi- 
ration, which  has  so  often  swelled  his  heart 
and  burst  from  his  lips  in  the  midst  of  bitter 
trial,  is  at  last  to  be  realized, — 

Jerusalem,  my  happy  home  ! 

My  soul  still  pants  for  thee  ; 
Then  shall  my  labors  have  an  end. 

When  I  thy  joys  shall  see — 

words,  which  to  us  have  this  day  a  new 
interest  thrown  around  them.  They  stand 
as  the  last  record  of  a  feeble  hand,  that  now 


10  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

lies  at  rest  in  the  grave — the  last  recorded 
aspirations  of  a  soul  tried  by  fire,  who  is 
this  day  in  the  midst  of  the  glory  for  which 
he  longed. 

But  what  are  the  characteristics  of  the 
piety  of  the  Christian,  who  stands  in  this 
enviable  position  ?     I  reply — 

That  to  be  such  a  Christian,  one  must 
have  a  clear  knowledge  of  Christ  as  the 
way  of  salvation.  "  I  am,"  says  Jesus, 
"  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life."  This 
truth  must  have  taken  full  possession  of  his 

soul. 

***** 

I  reply  again,  That  the  Christian  in  the 
text  has  full  confidence  in  Christ's  proposals 
of  mercy.  When  he  hears  "  Come  unto 
me  all  ye  that  labor,"  he  takes  Christ  at  his 
word.  He  knows  that  Christ  will  not  dis- 
honor his  own  promise. 

***** 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  11 

The  Christian  in  the  text,  is  one  also  who 
has  given  himself  fully  to  the  Lord  Jesus. 
He  has  seen  the  glory  of  this  salvation.  He 
has  proved  what  Paul  meant  by  the  un- 
searchable riches  of  Christ.  "  I  will  follow 
Christ,"  says  he,  "  whithersoever  he  goeth." 
He  delights  in  His  company,  in  His  king- 
dom, in  His  service.  "  Whether  he  lives, 
he  lives  unto  the  Lord,  and  whether  he  dies, 

he  dies  unto  the  Lord." 

***** 

Such,  my  brethren,  is  the  character  of  the 
mature  Christian  :  and  God  has  favored  us 
with  the  sight  of  one,  who  in  the  bloom  of 
health  and  onward  through  severe  sufferings 
to  the  hour  of  dissolution,  stood  in  this  noble 
attitude,  and  could  say  in  the  presence  of 
you  all,  "  To  me  to  live  is  Christ  and  to  die 
is  gain" — one,  who  closed  the  last  yearly 
record  of  his  life  with  these  memorable 
words,  that  stand  as  the  type  of  his  whole 
character :  "  It  often  occurs  to  me  that  I  am 


12  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

perhaps  too  indifferent  to  the  continuance 
of  life  in  this  world.  For  what  is  life  ? — a 
mere  entrance  into  an  existence  which  is 
eternal.  My  most  earnest  desire  is,  that  I 
may  spend  life  to  the  glory  of  my  Maker, 
with  submission  to  all  his  Holy  will  ;  and 
when  Death  comes,  that  I  may  welcome 
him,  rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  entering 
into  the  mansions  of  everlasting  rest,  clothed 
in  the  robe  of  the  blessed  Redeemer's  right- 
eousness." Happy  spirit !  Let  us  rejoice 
that  he  has  found  a  heaven  of  rest  at  last. 
It  is  to  this  character,  as  illustrated  in  his 
life  and  his  death,  that  I  wish  to  call  your 
attention. 

Young  as  he  was,  our  departed  friend  had 
loved  Christ  and  served  Christ  long.  He  be- 
gan that  service  in  his  tenderest  years.  In- 
deed,  from  his  own  remarks,  we  find  that  he 
was  the  subject  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  influ- 
ences as  far  back  as  his  recollections  ex- 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  13 

tended.  His  fondness  for  God's  word,  his 
grave  and  conscientious  deportment,  were 
remarked  by  all  who  knew  his  childhood. 
At  the  age  of  thirteen  years,  I  find  him, 
when  at  school,  far  from  home,  and  sur- 
rounded by  thoughtless  companions,  rising 
daily  from  his  bed,  while  others  were  sleep- 
ing, and  in  company  with  one  or  two  others 
devoting  the  early  hours  to  reading  the 
Bible.  This  he  reveals,  with  the  confidence 
of  a  child,  in  one  of  his  letters  at  the  time  to 
his  mother.  So  early  had  he  already  per- 
ceived the  value  of  God's  truth,  and  I  may 
add,  so  early  had  God  begun  to  prepare  his 
soul  for  the  severe  trials  he  was  called  to 
endure.  The  flower  was  destined  to  fall 
before  the  summer  was  half  gone,  and  there- 
fore God  gave  it  an  early  spring,  and  infused 
into  it  a  vigorous  growth,  that  it  might 
bloom  the  earlier  and  gladden  our  sight  with 
its  mature  beauty  ;  and  that  the  rough  wind 
which  must  scatter  its  leaves  and  rend  it 


14  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

from  our  sight,  might  fling  abroad  the  sweet- 
ness of  its  dying  perfume,  to  linger  with  us 
in  the* garden  of  the  Lord. 

Shortly  after  I  see  the  same  youth,  in  this 
city,^  stealing  away  from  the  crowd  of  his 
companions,  with  his  books  under  his  arm, 
to  spend  his  hours  of  recreation  in  the  house 
of  God,  where  the  operations  of  His  Spirit 
were  then  distinctly  manifest.  Yes,  within 
these  very  walls,*  my  hearers,  did  this  youth 
come  to  hear  the  Gospel.  He  sat  here  upon 
these  seats  day  after-  day,  hoping  to  find 
light  shed  upon  his  soul.  Sweet  bird !  that 
already  begins  to  flutter  its  feeble  pinions 
and  seeks  to  soar  towards  its  native  home  in 
the  skies.  The  fire  is  already  kindled,  and 
the  tapering  flame  begins  to  rise  upward  to 
its  source  in  Heaven. 

We  now  have  a  glimpse  of  the  progressive 
strength  of  his  religious  feelings.     In  a  re- 

•  Central  Presbyterian  Church,  Broome  Street. 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  15 

cord  of  his  life,  penned   by  his  own  hand, 
and  which  lay  between  him  and  his  God,  he 
gives  the  secret  workings  of  his  own  heart. 
"My  education,"  says  he,  "both  at  home 
and  at  school,  had  been  conducted  on  re- 
ligious principles,  and  religion  had  made  an 
early  and  deep  impression  on  my  mind.     In 
the  beginning  of  1831  (12  years  of  age)  our 
country  was  blessed  with  revivals  of  religion. 
My  father's  house  was  opened  for  prayer  at 
an  early  hour.     At  this  time  my  mind  was 
much  exercised  on  my  soul's  salvation.     I 
had  always  entertained  tender  feelings  on 
the  subject,  but  now  they  were  most  intense. 
I   ventured   to   indulge    a  hope    of  having 
given  my  heart  to  God ;    but  my  mind  was 
cloudy  on  this  head.    So  I  lived  on,  persuad- 
ing myself  that  I  was  a  Christian,   (and  I 
might  have  been  such),  but  lost  much  of  my 
tenderness  of  feeling.     I  did  not  give  up  my 
closet  exercises,  but  they  were  often  cold, 
heartless,  and  formal.     In  this  state  I  con- 


16  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

tinued  until  the  year  '34.  There  was  then 
a  revival  in  the  Dey  Street  Church,  to  which 
my  parents  belonged.  Here  my  religious 
impressions  were  revived.  I  repented  my 
past  indifference  and  dedicated  myself  anew 
to  God.  Previous  to  this,  my  love  to  Christ 
was  faint,  my  service  poor  and  heartless. 
The  sins  of  my  past  life  came  up  before  me 
in  dread  array — although  others  thought  me 
very  exemplary.  But  my  prayer  now  was, 
'Search  me,  O  God,  and  know  my  heart: 
try  me,  and  know  my  thoughts ;  and  see  if 
there  be  any  wicked  way  in  me,  and  lead 
me  in  the  way  everlasting.'  I  entered  upon 
that  blessed  way,  and  found  joy  and  peace  in 
believing." 

How  ever  alike  is  genuine  repentance ! 
and  how  true  is  it  that  the  very  fairest  of  us 
(when  the  law  of  God  comes  home  with 
convincing  power  to  the  heart)  dies  under 
the  reviving  of  sin,  and  sees,  and  feels  him- 
self in  the  sight  of  God  to  be  loathsome. 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  17 

How  true  is  it  also,  that  every  sinner  is 
saved  in  the  same  way — by  free  grace;  and 
that  the  plea  of  every  returning  soul — the 
child  of  the  constant  impulses  of  the  Holy 
Spirit ;  the  most  unblemished  outward 
character ;  as  well  as  the  most  hardened 
criminal — is  ever  the  same,  "  God  be  merci- 
ful to  me  a  sinner." 

In  the  spring  of  1834,  our  deceased  brother, 
with  seventy-one  others,  publicly  professed 
Christ  in  the  Dey  Street  Church.  He  was 
then  fifteen  years  old.  From  that  time  his 
whole  life  bore  evidence  to  the  genuineness 
of  his  conversion ;  nor  can  any  who  knew 
him  doubt  that  the  ruling  principle  of  his 
life  was  that  of  Paul.  For  him  to  live  was 
Christ. 

Three  years  afterwards  he  began  the 
yearly  record  of  which  I  have  spoken  ;  and 
the  earnest  prayer  with  which  he  begins 
that   record  was   but   the  rule  of  his   life. 

"  Omniscient  God !  may  I  be  enabled  to  act 

2* 


18  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

with  an  eye  single  to  thy  glory.  May  I 
live  near  to  Thee;  may  I  do  whatever  Thou 
in  thy  providence  mayest  appoint,  and  at 
last  receive  me  into  eternal  rest,  there  to 
praise  Thee  for  ever." 

Our  departed  friend  carried  this  principle 
of  living  for  Christ  into  everything.  The 
minutest  affairs  of  life  seem  to  have  been 
regulated  by  it.  Says  one  who  knew  him 
intim^itely  :  "  I  have  ever  held  him  up  to  my 
children  as  the  model  of  a  Christian  gentle- 
man." Says  another:  "My  acquaintance 
with  him  will  always  testify  to  the  peculiar 
beauty  and  excellence  of  his  character.  His 
gentleness  and  affectionate  disposition ;  his 
patience  under  suffering — all  distinguished 
him  as  one  of  remarkable  loveliness."  Says 
a  third:  "I  have  known  him  long,  and  I 
never  knew  him  to  speak  unadvisedly  with 
his  lips."  Some  even  who  knew  him  but 
slightly,  have  volunteered  the  expression  of 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  19 

their   admiration   of    the   loveliness   of  his 
character,  and  their  sympathy  for  his  loss. 

But  most  of  all  have  I  been  moved  by  his 
own  testimony.  His  affectionate  disposition 
often  gave  itself  vent  in  expressions  of  kind- 
ness to  his  parents  and  sisters.  In  a  letter  to 
his  mother,  on  his  twenty-fifth  birth-day,  he 
pours  forth  the  grateful  feelings  of  his  bosom, 
and  then,  in  the  warmth  of  his  heart,  he 
adds:  "Notwithstanding  I  have  \oo  much 
reason  for  asking  your  forgiveness  for  many 
acts  of  waywardness  and  want  of  attention, 
yet  I  trust  it  may  afford  you  satisfaction,  to 
declare  for  myself,  that  I  never  have  engaged 
in  any  deed,  or  been  in  any  place,  to  the 
best  of  my  recollection,  the  knowledge  of 
which  would  have  caused  sorrow  to  my 
mother's  heart."  Young  men!  who  of  us 
would  be  willing  to  bring  his  virtue  to  such 
a  test ! 

His  consideration  for  others  was  ever  pre- 
dominant.     In   the   midst   of   his   severest 


20  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

afflictions,  and  at  a  moment  when  hope 
hung  in  a  balance  between  life  and  death,  I 
find  him  saying  in  the  same  secret  record  of 
his  own  thoughts  :  "  I  have  but  one  wish  that 
makes  life  desirable ;  it  is  the  wish  to  smoothe 
the  declining  years  of  my  parents,  who  ever 
have  exerted  themselves  for  my  welfare,  and 
to  aid  them  in  the  direction  and  education 
of  my  dear  brother  and  sisters."  This  was 
but  a  type  of  the  same  spirit  that  manifested 
itself  towards  friends,  visitors,  domestics, 
and  strangers.  In  all  things  he  sought  the 
welfare  of  others,  not  his  own. 

The  cAeerfM^wess  of  his  piety  was  remarkable. 
There  was  no  gloom,  no  misanthropy.  You 
will  bear  me  witness  that  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  sharpest  trials,  he  ever  manifested  a  cheer- 
ful spirit.  Indeed  he  often  withheld  the 
statement  of  his  sufferings  (even  more  than 
affection  thought  advisable),  lest  he  might 
needlessly  distress  the  sympathizing  hearts 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  21 

of  those  he  loved.  So  constantly  calm  and 
cheerful  was  his  deportment,  that  a  stranger 
would  never  have  suspected  he  was  the 
subject  of  trials  so  severe. 

In  addition  to  this,  his  piety  made  him 
most  unobtrusive.  The  grace  of  God  had 
laid  the  axe  at  the  rooPof  natural  pride.  He 
loved  not,  he  sought  not  distinction.  The 
retired,  shady  walk  of  life  was  the  object  of 
his  choice.  This  was  observable  in  all  his 
deportment.  I  have  been  struck,  however, 
with  one  development  of  it.  After  leaving 
the  University,  where  he  was  graduated  with 
distinguished  honor,  his  attention  was  turned 
to  the  subject  of  the  ministry.  This,  after 
mature  deliberation  and  prayer  to  God,  he 
declined  entering.  His  reasons  we  find  in 
his  private  record,  and  are  these.  "  After 
thinking  much  on  the  subject,  I  have  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  (whether  just  or  erroneous, 
I  know  not),  that  my  talents  are  not  of  that 


22  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

peculiar  stamp  calculated  for  public  life. 
At  the  very  outset  my  ability  for  composing 
is  limited.  I  have  ideas  sometimes,  which, 
if  they  were  only  expressed,  would  perhaps 
appear  new  and  striking — but  on  attempting 
to  delineate  them,  language  is  wanting ;  and 
on  coming  to  delivery,  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss. 
Mere  bashfulness  I  lUppose  could  be  over- 
come, but  something  more  is  requisite.  I 
lack  animation,  self-control,  and  other  quali- 
ties needful  for  a  speaker.  Nor  can  I  say 
that  I  have  had  that  continued,  increasing 
desire  to  preach  the  gospel  which  has  filled 
the  bosoms  of  some.  At  times  when  I  have 
listened  to  some  energetic  preacher,  control- 
ling as  it  were  the  attention  and  minds  of 
his  audience — while  I  have  been  reading  or 
listening  to  some  soul-stirring  description  of 
the  sad  state  of  the  world,  and  the  call  for 
the  living  preacher  from  every  quarter,  I 
have  almost  determined  on  the  ministry. 
But  again,  on  casting  my  eye  upon  some  in- 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  23 

stances    of    misdirected    talent,    and    look- 
ing on    my    own    insufficiency,    my    heart 
has   utterly  failed.     Under   these  consider- 
ations, I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  enter 
upon  some  other  avocation."     Such  was  his 
judgment.     Whether  just  or  not,  I  shall  not 
determine.     They   show   at   least   his   own 
severe    scrutiny    of    himself— -»his    amiable 
modesty,  and  his  retiring  diffidence  which 
shrank   from   publicity.      "  I    have   endea- 
vored," says  he  in  another  place,  "  to  study 
my  powers  and  disposition,  and  am  inclined 
to  think,  that  my  sphere  is  to  lie  in  a  retired 
walk  of  life,     I  have  no  desire  to  make  a 
bustle  in  the  world,  but  to  fulfil  the  objects 
of  my  being  in  a  suitable  manner."     Again, 
"  I  do  not  have  those  aspiring  feelings  and 
ardent  expectations  which  are  entertained  by 
most  young  men  entering  into  life.     I  prefer 
looking  back  to  looking  forward."    Again,  he 
writes  in  private :   "  My  prayer  is,  '  give  me 
neither   poverty,  nor  riches.'     My  utmost 


24  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

wish  is,  to  gain  the  means  of  purchasing  a 
rural  home,  with  a  moderate  competence. 

'  And  at  my  life's  last  setting  sun, 
My  conflicts  o'er,  my  labor  done — 
Jesus  !  thy  heavenly  radiance  shed, 
To  cheer  and  bless  my  dying  bed. 
And  from  death's  gloom  my  spirit  raise. 
To  sae  thy  face  and  sing  thy  praise.' " 

Thus  effectually  had  the  grace  of  God 
brought  our  brother,  young  as  he  was,  "  to 
love  not  the  world,  neither  the  things  that 
are  in  the  world." 

Our  departed  brother  was  remarkable  for 
habits  of  self-examination.  The  close  of 
every  year  of  his  life,  was  a  special  season 
of  solemn  review  in  the  presence  of  God. 
This,  I  doubt  not,  was  a  chief  cause  of  his 
rapid  advance  in  piety.  "  I  have  often  con- 
sidered," writes  he,  when  eighteen  years  of 
age,    "  the  utility  and  propriety  of  such  a 


1 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  25 

habit,  which  I  shall  endeavor  hereafter  to 
fulfil.  I  shall  make  a  record  of  the  events 
and  changes  of  an  over-ruling  Providence, 
and  a  faithful  mirror  of  my  own  heart. 
As  it  will  be  kept  from  the  eye  of  others, 
and  known  only  to  the  omniscient  God 
and  myself,  I  sincerely  and  solemnly  in- 
voke His  kindly  aid  and  direction  that  I 
may  be  enabled  to  see  myself  as  I  really 
am."  This  plan  he  faithfully  pursued  to  the 
last  year  of  his  life.  The  prayer  with  which 
he  begins  the  record,  God  answered.  His  hu- 
mility was  deepened,  his  faith  was  strength- 
ened, and  he  was  sustained  in  a  dying  hour. 
His  death-bed  was  that  of  one,  who  had  long 
known  from  experience,  that  Jesus  was  liis 
supporting  Saviour,  and  God  his  reconciled 
Father. 

I  need  not  add  what  you  all  know — that 
he  was  diligent  in  every  good  work.  The 
Sabbath  school  knew  him  as  a  faithful  and 

laborious  teacher.     He  ever  made  it  a  prin- 

3 


26  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

ciple  of  his  life  to  devote  a  portion  of  his 
property  to  the  cause  of  God.  In  every 
enterprise  for  the  spread  of  the  Gospel,  he 
took  great  delight,  while  his  letters  and  jour- 
nal are  interspersed  with  remarks  of  grati- 
tude to  God,  for  every  revival  of  religion  he 
was  privileged  to  witness.  He  writes,  "  I 
have,  I  think,  no  higher  aim  for  the  members 
of  my  family  than  that  every  one  of  them 
may  be  members  of  Christ's  body."  Truly 
he  loved  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  Zion. 

Now  in  all  this,  it  may  be  said,  much 
allowance  must  be  made  for  natural  tem- 
perament, natural  amiability,  sedateness,  and 
good  judgment.  It  is  true  that  he  was 
naturally  amiable,  and  there  are  in  his  ear- 
liest letters,  hasty  touches,  thrown  off  in  a 
child-like  style,  which  evince  a  consideration 
that  would  do  credit  to  maturer  years.  But 
after  all,  what  was  the  principle  of  his  life  ? 
Hear  him  speak,  and  see  opened  in  his  own 
heart,   the  fountain  from  which   this  pure 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  27 

Stream  flowed.  "  The  principle  upon  which 
I  wish  to  decide  a  question  of  duty  is,  in 
what  can  I  do  the  most  good  to  my  fellow- 
men,  and  advance  in  the  best  manner,  the 
glory  of  God.  I  want  to  pursue  that  which 
will  not  be  averse  to  a  life  of  nearness  to 
God.  Troubles,  trials,  and  sufferings  ac- 
company man  through  this  vale  of  tears." 
How  prophetic  in  his  own  case  !  "  If  my 
hope  were  not  in  God,  I  should  fail  of  all 
resolution,  but,  relying  upon  His  arm,  I  can 
go  forward.  He  has  promised  that,  '  as  thy 
day  is — so  siiall  thy  strength  be.'  "  Thus 
speaks  he — was  it  then  mere  amiability — was 
it  the  force  of  mere  natural  disposition  ? 
Think  so,  if  you  will,  but  I  ascribe  his  up- 
right conduct  to  a  higher  motive.  He  had 
laid  his  all  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  for  him 
to  live  was  in  everything  Christ.  But  time 
would  fail  me  to  speak  of  all  his  excellences, 
his  purity,  his  meekness,  his  love  for  God's 
word,  his  patience.     It  may  be   said,   and 


28  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

written  upon  his  tomb,  as  the  truest  and  best 
epitaph  :  "  If  there  was  any  virtue  ;  if  there 
was  any  praise,  he  thought  on  these  things." 

I  come  now  to  show  him  manifesting  the 
same  principle  in  the  endurance  of  his 
trials.  In  these,  as  in  everything,  his  life, 
his  strength  was  Christ  Jesus.  The  trial 
of  his  faith  was  precious,  though  tried  by 
fire.  He  endured,  because  by  faith  he  saw 
that  unseen  Saviour  whom  he  loved.  A  little 
more  than  two  years  since,  God  led  him  to 
the  brink  of  the  dark  waters.  For  some 
months  he  had  but  little  thoughtof  the  depth 
and  bitterness  of  the  flood  through  which 
he  was  to  pass.  At  first,  the  over-arching 
trees  as  he  entered  the  dark  path,  scarcely 
excluded  the  light  of  the  sun,  but  the  shade 
grew  darker  and  darker  as  he  advanced, 
until  his  feet  touched  the  cold  and  silent 
waters,  when  all  was  involved  in  midnight 
until  the  river  was  crossed,  and  then  the 


/ 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  29 

light  of  eternity  broke  upon  his  rejoicing 
spirit.  At  one  time  indeed,  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine streamed  through  and  enlightened  his 
path.  For  a  moment,  friends  rejoiced  with 
him.  But  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  Black- 
ness soon  brooded  thicker  than  ever,  and  joy 
was  again  to  animate  his  bosom,  only  with 
the  breaking  of  eternal  day. 

But  though  all  was  dark  without,  he  had 
light  within.  God  walked  with  him  in  the 
dark  valley,  and  he  had  an  experience  of 
that  truth,  such  as  none  but  those  whq  are 
tried  like  him  can  have, — "  When  thou  pass- 
est  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee, 
and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  over- 
flow thee  ;  for  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the 
Holy  One  of  Israel,  thy  Saviour." 

Perhaps  all  present  are  acquainted  with 
the  fact,  that  our  friend's  disease  was  what 
is  called  in  technical  language  Osteosar- 
coma.    This  disease  occasioned  an  extensive 

swelling  on  the  right  side  of  the  lower  jaw, 

3* 


30  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

and  could  be  arrested  only  by  the  cutting 
out  of  a  part  of  the  jaw  itself.  Upon  care- 
ful inspection,  the  tumor  was  found  to  extend 
from  the  middle  of  the  chin  even  to  the  ar- 
ticulation. Consequently  the  entire  half  of 
the  jaw  must  be  extracted ;  an  operation  as 
formidable  as  can  well  be  conceived. 

His  calmness  throughout  the  whole  of  this 
trial  was  indeed  admirable.  When  every 
means  of  relief  had  been  tried ;  when  the 
conviction  had  become  settled  that  there 
was*  but  one  fearful  alternative — an  alter- 
native between  death  and  this  operation,  as 
uncommon  as  it  was  painful  and  dangerous ; 
when  the  hearts  of  relatives  were  wrung 
with  agony  at  the  thought  of  such  an  alter- 
native ;  when  (as  you  all  well  remember) 
every  heart  among  us  bled,  in  the  anticipa- 
tion of  his  trial,  his  soul  was  calm,  trusting 
in  the  Lord.  His  whole  deportment  seemed 
to  say  with  his  Master,  "  the  cup  which  my 
father  hath  given  me,  shall  I  not  drink  it?" 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN,  31 

And  whence,  think  you,  derived  he  such 
support  ?  It  was  from  prayer  to  the  sanie 
God,  to  whom  he  was  now  drawn  nearer 
and  nearer  than  ever  by  his  trial,  and  in 
whose  grace  he  was  now  to  experience  a 
power  to  which  he  had  before  been  com- 
paratively a  stranger.  At  times  indeed, 
nature  would  give  way.  Such  an  occasion 
has  been  brought  to  my  notice.  It  was 
when  the  necessity  of  the  fearful  operation 
had  become  quite  certain.  He  and  his  friends 
were  convinced  that  the  trial  must  be  en- 
dured. You  may  judge  then  of  their  con- 
stant heaviness  of  heart.  One  Sabbath 
morning  at  family  prayers,  that  beautiful 
hymn  of  Christian  confidence :  "  Through 
all  the  changing  scenes  of  life,"  was  read  to 
be  sung.  Our  afflicted  friend  sang  the  first 
verse  and  the  second,  until  he  came  to  4he 
following :  "  Till  all  who  are  distressed, 
From  my  example,  comfort  take" — he  could 
go  no  further,  his  emotion  choked  his  utter- 


39  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

ance,   and  in   a   moment  all   present  were 
bathed  in  tears. 

Yet  the  expression  of  so  much  feeling 
was  but  the  swelling  of  a  tender  heart.  In 
every  real  emergency  grace  was  equal  to 
his  day.  Hear  him  in  a  letter  only  two  days 
before  the  operation.  "  The  stroke  which 
now  appears  so  heavy  is,  doubtless,  a  '  bless- 
ing in  disguise.'  You  speak  of  my  circum- 
spect conduct.  I  cannot  agree  with  you. 
If  I  know  anything  of  my  own  heart,  there 
is  much  in  it  that  requires  severe  chastise- 
ment. Besides,  if  God  afflicts,  he  has  fur- 
nished us  with  an  abundance  of  oil  and 
wine,  and  without  price,  to  pour  into  our 
galling  wounds.  Oh  !  that  He  may  be  pleas- 
ed to  make  this  trial  a  blessing  to  all  con- 
cerned. The  truth  is,  it  is  a  difficult  lesson 
for  us  to  learn,  that  this  is  not  our  'abiding 
city,'  and  we  continually  need  trouble  and 
affliction  to  remind  us  of  the  fact.     Let  us 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  33 

not,  therefore,  grieve  when  the  rod  falls,  but 
endeavor  to  profit  by  the  dispensation." 

We  will  now  follow  him  to  the  scene 
of  his  trial.  When  the  time  had  arrived, 
and  when  he  was  every  moment  expecting 
a  call  to  the  place  of  suffering,  you  might 
have  entered  that  parlor,*  and  seen  every 
lip  quivering  and  heard  every  heart  pal- 
pitating, but  his  own.  Calm  and  cheerful 
in  conversation  was  he  even  then.  He 
knew  what  was  before  him.  He  knew 
that  a  moment's  inadvertence  on  the  part  of 
the  surgeon  might  hurry  him  into  eternity. 
He  knew  that  the  parting  "  farewell "  from 
that  parlor  door,  might  be  the  last  words  of 
friendly  recognition  in  this  world.  He  knew 
that  from  yonder  table  his  spirit  might  soon 
take  its  flight  to  another ,world.  And  yet, 
he  says,  "  I  am  ready,"  and  amidst  the 
gleaming  array  of  instruments,  he  lies  down 

r 
*  413  Broome  street. 


34  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

without  a  moment's  hesitation — in  the  hope 
of  continued  Hfe,  yet  at  the  risk  of  instant 
death.  Or  rather,  I  should  say,  he  knew  not 
what  was  before  him.  For  as  his  own  lan- 
guage afterwards  expressed  it  :  "  My  suffer- 
ings under  the  knife  were  not  so  much  from 
what  I  actually  endured,  as  from  the  constant 
harassing  anticipation  that  some  more  dread- 
ful pain  was  every  moment  to  be  inflicted." 
But  all  was  ready.  He  had  reviewed  his 
life ;  he  had  cast  himself  afresh  upon  the 
Redeemer  ;  he  had  sought  help  in  prayer 
to  God,  and  his  prayer  had  been  answered. 
He  felt  that  he  grasped  a  hand  that  was 
mighty  to  save,  and  he  was  prepared  for  any 
event.  "  How  do  you  feel,  my  son  ?"  in- 
quires his  anxious  father.  He  replies  with 
the  faith  of  one  who  knows  he  is  leaning  on 
an  everlasting  arm — "  All  is  peace,  father." 
Thrilling  words !  which  spoke  all  the  com- 
fort that  even  a  father  could  desire.  But 
follow  him  to  the  chamber  of  trial.     The 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  35 

operation  is,  at  last,  finished — every  pain 
has  been  endured  without  a  motion.  In  the 
words  of  an  experienced  surgeon,*  then 
present,  "  There  was  certainly  something 
there  which  better  deserved  the  name  of 
'heroic,'  than  anything  I  had  ever  before 
seen,  or  heard  of,  or  imagined,  within  the 
scope  of  human  fortitude."  From  the  be- 
ginning to  the  ending  of  the  operation — for 
one  hour  and  a  half — the  sufferer  lay  with 
his  hands  crossed,  and  not  the  slightest 
evidence  of  pain,  or  of  impatience,  or  of 
fatigue,  escaped  him,  either  by  language, 
gesture,  or  expression  of  countenance, — 
"  an  operation  unequalled  in  the  annals  of 
surgery — alike  triumphant  to  the  surgeon, 
to  American  genius,  to  the  admirable  sub- 
ject, to  the  cause  of  truth,  of  morality, 
and  of  sound  religion,"  and,  I  will  add,  to 
the  power  of  faith  in  Christ  Jesus. 

*  See  note. 


36  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

But  hear  now  his  own  language.  Expe- 
rienced surgeons  are  standing  in  wonder  at 
his  constancy  ;  friends,  just  admitted,  are 
mute  with  horror  as  they  look  upon  the 
ghastly  wound  which  has  been  inflicted  : 
but  he  still  lies  motionless.  Prayer  is  yet 
rising  from  his  heart  in  silence  to  God. 
At  length,  the  wound  is  closed  ;  and  after 
three  hours'  endurance,  permission  is  given 
to  speak.  A  sympathizing  relative  bends 
over  him,  and  whispers  .his  commendation 
of  so  much  fortitude.  The  sufferer  will  not 
receive  the  praise — he  raises  his  languid 
eyes,  while  his  tongue  feebly  mutters  through 
his  bleeding  wounds,  "  Give  God  the  glory." 
How  sublime  the  victory  of  faith  ! 

You  may  be  anxious  to  learn  what  record 
he  has  left  of  his  feelings  on  that  mournful 
occasion.  I  may  answer — almost  none. 
The  simple  account  of  the  operation,  follow- 
ed by  these  few  lines,  dismisses  the  whole 
subject.      "  The   manner  in  which    I   was 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  37 

supported  through  the  tedious  and  painful 
operation,  will  call  for  the  devoutest  grati- 
tude to  God  until  my  dying  hour." 

But  his  trials  were  not  yet  ended.     The 
gleam  of  sunshine  was  soon  to  pass  away. 
Almost  as  soon  as   he  had  recovered  from 
the  long  weakness  subsequent  to  the  opera- 
tion,  grounds   for   apprehension   began    to 
arise.     Cutting  pains  admonished  him  that 
the  severe  application  had,  after  all,  failed 
to  effect  a  cure,  and  that  Death,  unrobbed 
of  his   prey,   was  stealing   on    him   apa«e. 
Then,  my  hearers,  if  you  know  anything  of 
the  human  heart,  then  was  the  time  of  trial. 
And   bitter   trial   it   was.     Was    it   at   ail 
strange,  then,  though  h^  never  gave  way  to 
despondency,    that   cheerfulness    would    at 
times  forsake  him  ?     Is  it  strange  that  you 
might  occasionally  have  seen  the  silent  tear 
trickling  down  his  cheek  as  he  sat  at   the 
cheerful  fireside  ?    Often  when  at  table,  and 

all  around  him  were  engaged  in  lively  con- 

4 


38  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

versation,  you  might  have  observed  him  al- 
most overcome  with  sorrow.  His  heart 
seemed  filled  with  grief,  and  he  could  scarcely 
hide  his  emotions.  The  repast  being  over,  you 
might  have  seen  him  quietly  wending  his 
way  to  hi?  own  room  ;  and  if  you  had  then 
followed  him,  as  some  frequently  did,  to  his 
door,  you  would  have  heard  him  offer  up 
earnest  supplications  to  the  throne  of  grace, 
mingled  with  deep  groans  which  could  not 
escape  the  ear  of  the  passer-by.  And  yet, 
i^  these  moments  of  severe  trial,  stand  by 
his  side,  and  see  him  in  secret  pen  these 
words  : — "  Since  my  return  home,  the  pain 
in  my  face  has  caused  me  some  disquiet. 
If  I  am  to  pass  again  through  the  furnace  of 
affliction,  I  pray  for  God's  sustaining  grace. 
What,  indeed^  but  this  can  support  poor 
feeble  man  ?  I  trust  that  I  feel  in  some 
measure  as  I  should,  in  reference  to  my  late 
affliction,  and  recognise  it  as  from  the  hand 
of  a  heavenly  Father,  who  afflicts  not  wil- 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  39 

lingly.  But  oh !  far  short  do  I  come.  May 
God  in  his  goodness  prepare  me  for  what- 
ever he  may  be  preparing  for  me  during  the 
year  upon  which  I  have  now  entered."  I 
cannot  forbear  mentioning,  also  (for  it  is 
truly  characteristic),  that  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  intense  anxiety,  his  mind  never  loses  its 
balance,  nor  does  he  forget  his  duties. 
There  appears  at  every  step,  the  same  calm 
interest  in  whatever  concerned  the  members 
of  his  family,  the  same  desire  to  make*  ar- 
rangements for  usefulness  in  life,  and  the 
most  touching  appreciation  of  the  efforts  of 
sympathizing  friends.  At  such  a  time, 
when  deep  anxiety  (one  would, think)  might 
have  excused  him  for  inattention  to  such 
objects,  his  pen  overflows  on  every  page 
with  gratitude  to  God  for  the  comforts 
of  his  situation,  and  the  keenest  sense  of  the 
most  trifling  act  of  kindness.  Even  in  the 
darkest  hour  of  trial,  every  page  is  a  record 
of  God's  mercies. 


40  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

As  you  all  know,  these  harassing  appre- 
hensions gradually  darkened  into  increasing 
certainty;    and  it  was  deemed    expedient 
for  him   to   try  the  benefit  of  a   southern 
climate.     He  left  his  father's  house  to  pass 
the  winter  in  New  Orleans.     On  his  way  he 
writes,    "I    cannot    describe    to    you,   my 
mother,  I  leave  you  to  imagine — the  feelings 
which  crowded  upon  me  after  the  excite- 
ment of  departure  and  the  bidding  you  all 
'  farewell.'     I  will  only  say,  that  my  situation 
was  as  trying  as  it  was  new — not  in  leaving 
home,  but  in  leaving  under  the  circumstan- 
ces— uncertain  as   to  the  object  I   had   in 
leaving,  and  not  without  some  fear   lest  I 
might  be  circumstanced  so  that  home  alone 
should  be  the  place  for  me.     But  endeavor- 
ing to  banish  all  gloomy  forebodings,  I  deter- 
mined   to    go   forward   with   trust    in   our 
Heavenly  Father's  wisdom  and  a  cheerful 
acquiescence   in   His  will.     When  duty  is 
plain,  I  know  not  how  to  dwell  upon  oppos- 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  41 

ing  arguments."  How  true  is  it,  my  hearers, 
"  He  shall  be  kept  in  perfect  peace,  whose 
mind  is  stayed  on  God." 

After  a  few  days  of  severe  suffering  in 
that  distant  city,  he  felt  constrained  to 
return  home.  At  this  point,  his  hope  of 
recovery  seemed  to  be  almost  gone.  "  My 
pain,"  he  writes,  "is  almost  intolerable.  I 
have  never  suffered  so  much  from  any  cause. 
I  am  awake  at  night  repeatedly  from  one  to 
three  hours,  rolling  in  intense  suffering.  It 
grieves  me  to  tell  you  this,  knowing  the 
extent  of  sympathy  which  all  at  home  will 
feel  for  me.  But  I  cannot  deceive  you.  If 
this  continue,  I  shall  deem  it  necessary  to 
return  home,  there  keep  quiet  and  abide  the 
result,  which  we  must  leave  in  the  hands  oi 
an  all-wise  Parent." 

Thus  was  beam  after  beam  of  the  bright 

star  becoming  extinguished,  and  we  watched 

to   see   it   "  melt  away    into   the   light   of 

Heaven." 

4* 


42  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

In  a  few  weeks  he  is  again  at  home — still 
subjected  to  nights  and  days  of  torturing 
pain — still  the  subject  of  alternating  hopes 
and  fears.  Hope  is  at  last  almost  eclipsed, 
and  at  this  solemn  moment  we  peruse  with 
heightened  interest  the  record  of  his  feelings. 
"  My  friends  entertain  hopes  that  my  disease 
is  disappearing.  For  myself,  I  see  no  change 
for  the  better.  It  often  occurs  to  me  that 
I  may  be  subject  to  a  long  and  distressing- 
course  of  suffering,  before  the  disease  proves 
fatal.  I  endeavor,  however,  to  avoid  brood- 
ing over  such  imaginary  troubles.  It  is  a 
satisfactory  reflection,  that  in  the  providence 
of  God,  I  am  so  situated,  that  if  my  course 
in  this  world  is  nearly  run,  my  loss  will  be 
but  slightly  felt.  My  most  earnest  desire  is, 
to  spend  life  to  the  glory  of  my  Maker. 
May  I  be  submissive  to  all  His  holy  will. 
And  when  death  comes,  may  it  summon  me 
to  everlasting  rest  in  heaven." 

Truly  to  him  to  live  was  Christ.      His 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  43 

life  was  from  Christ;  his  strength  was  in 
Christ ;  his  hope  was  in  the  Lamb  of  God  ; 
his  prayer  in  the  midst  of  the  fiery  trial,  to 
glorify  Christ,  whether  by  life  or  by  death. 

And  now  you  are  prepared  to  ask,  was 
his  death  gain?  Come  then  to  his  dying 
bed-side,  and  judge  for  yourself.  There  you 
see  him  lying  in  the  extremity  of  weakness. 
The  color  has  fled  from  his  cheeks,  and  new 
symptoms  of  disease  are  aggravating  his 
sufferings.  I  approach  him  and  ask :  "  Are 
you  satisfied  that  God  should  do  with  you 
just  what  he  will  ?"  "  O,  yes,"  he  replies. 
"  You  remember  that  the  Apostle,  comparing 
our  present  sufferings  with  future  glory,  calls 
them  light." 

A  week  previous  to  his  decease,  he  walked 
one  afternoon  into  an  adjoining  room  with 
much  difliculty,  and  on  returning  nearly 
fainted.  After  this,  he  never  sat  up,  and 
could  talk  but  little  on  account  of  the  sore- 


44  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

ness  of  his  mouth.  Short  sentences,  such 
as  the  following,  would  occasionally  escape 
his  lips,  "  Lord  Jesus,  give  me  patience." 
"I  pray  the  Lord  that  I  may  not  fret  so 
much."  And  yet,  my  brethren,  no  one  ever 
heard  him  murmur.  In  answer  to  his 
mother's  questions,  "  Do  you  feel  ready  to 
go,  or  would  you  prefer  to  stay  ?"  he  replied, 
"  Yes,  ready  to  go,  which  is  far  better." — 
"  Do  you  feel  the  Saviour  near  ?" — "  Yes," 
he  said,  adding,  "  Our  light  afflictions  are  but 
for  a  moment." 

He,  one  evening,  called  one  of  his  sisters 
to  his  bed-side,  and,  after  giving  her  some 
advice,  he  remarked,  "and  so  we  must  all 
go  one  by  one ;  but  I  hope  we  shall  meet  in 
that  upper  world,  where  there  is  no  more 
sickness  nor  pain." 

On  Saturday,  August  1st,  he  was  asked, 
"  Have  you  any  message  for  your  absent 
sister  ?" — "  Tell  her  God  is  ready  to  receive 
me,  if  I  should  be  taken  suddenly."      He 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  45 

asked  the  following  morning  what  day  it 
was,  and  being  told  it  was  the  Sabbath,  he 
lay  still  for  some  time,  and  then,  thinking  he 
was  alone,  he  covered  his  face  with  a  fan 
and  prayed  audibly.  Some  detached  sen- 
tences were  heard.  "  Lord,  may  I  grow  in 
grace — give  me  patience — may  I  resign  my 
spirit  sweetly  unto  Thee,  if  taken  suddenly." 
One  asked  him,  "  Is  the  Saviour  near  to  you 
to-day  ?" — "  Yes,  the  Lord  is  precious." 
She  then  remarked,  "  William,  it  is  a  great 
comfort  to  us,  that  you -can  cast  yourself  so 
entirely  upon  the  Lord."  He  replied  :  "  Yes, 
yes,  upon  the  rock  of  salvation."  His 
mother  inquired,  "  Is  your  mind  collected 
enough  to  think  upon  any  Scripture?" — 
"Yes,"  said  he,  "the  Lord  reigns — let  the 
earth  rejoice."  His  mother  remarked, 
"There  can  be  no  fear  of  death  when  the 
Saviour  is  so  near."  He  replied,  "  Perfect 
love  casteth  out  fear." 

On  the  following  day,  about  one  o'clock. 


46  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

bleeding  at  the  nose  commenced.  This 
could  not  be  stopped  at  once,  and  very  much 
increased  his  weakness.  In  the  night  he 
called  for  his  friends,  and  begged  them  to 
hold  his  hands.  His  aunt  inquired  if  he 
wished  to  say  "farewell."  "Yes,"  he  an- 
swered. His  mother  remarked,  "  I  hope  we 
shall    meet    in  heaven." — "  Yes,"   said   he, 

"  the  saints  are  gathered  " and  his  voice 

failed.  Soon  after  he  said  faintly,  "  A  little 
while  ago  I  thought  it  was  all  over."  He 
then  slept  a  little,  and  on  awaking,  his  aunt 
repeated  to  him,  "  Jesus  can  make  a  dying 
bed,  Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are,"  when 
he  clasped  his  emaciated  hands,  saying : 
"  Yes,  O  yes,  that's  true,  that's  true."  .  One 
said,  "  William,  is  the  Saviour  precious  ?" — 
"  Yes,  very  precious."  Shortly  after  he 
was  heard  to  say,  "  In  the  morning  I  shall 

enter  " and  again  his  voice  failed. 

He  manifested  much  affection  for  every 
member   of   the   family,   frequently   calling 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  47 

them  near  him.  At  one  thiie,  after  inquir- 
ing for  his  brother,  and  being  told  it  was 
night  and  his  brother  had  gone  to  rest,  he 
said,  "I  thought  he  would  like  to  see  me 
once  more ;"  which  shows  he  felt  his  end  to 
be  very  near.  During  the  night,  he  fre- 
quently addressed  the  Saviour  as  being  very 
precious  to  him.  When  his  aunt  repeated 
the  fourth  verse  of  the  twenty- third  Psalm, 
he  said  with  emphasis,  "  Yes,  comfort."  On 
observing  his  friends  were  weeping  around 
him,  he  exclaimed,  "  Rejoice,  rejoice,"  as  if 
to  say,  Weep  not  for  me,  but  rejoice  that  I 
am  so  soon  to  receive  the  crown  of  righteous- 
ness that  fadeth  not  away. 

He  remained  perfectly  conscious  unto 
the  very  last,  though  not  able  to  articulate 
distinctly.  At  ten  minutes  after  six  o'clock 
on  Tuesday  morning  (August  4th,  184G), 
he  gently  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 

"  Asleep  in  Jesus — blessed  sleep, 
From  which  none  ever  wakes  to  weep 


48  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

A  calm  and  undisturbed  repose, 
Which  none  but  he  that  feels  it  knows." 


Thus  lived,  and  thus  died  William  Edgar 
Baker — a  trophy  of  divine  grace — "an  Israel- 
ite indeed,  in  whom  there  was  no  guile  " — a 
shining;  light  that  dawned  at  earliest  morn- 
ing,  and  shedding  its  bright  beams  even 
through  the  heavy  vapors  that  beset  its 
path,  set  while  it  was  yet  day,  making  the 
dark  clouds  in  which  it  sank  to  rest,  reful- 
gent with  the  light  of  Heaven — a  young 
Christian,  rich  in  the  grace  of  God,  who 
could  say  with  Paul,  "For  me  to  live  is 
Christ,  and  to  die  is  gain."  Yes,  my 
brother  !  Thou  wast  indeed  a  fruitful  bough, 
"  a  fruitful  bough,  planted  by  a  well,  whose 
branches  run  over  the  wall.  The  archers 
sorely  grieved  thee  and  shot  at  thee,  but 
thy  bow  abode  in  strength,  and  the  arms 
of  thy  hands  were  made  strong,  by  the  hands 
of  the  mighty  God  of  Jacob." 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  49 

And  now,  what  instruction  shall  I  draw 
from  this  living  epistle,  written  by  the  finger 
of  God? 

I  bring  you,  my  friends,  to  stand  by  his 
grave  and  learn  there  the  honor  of  having  a 
child  made  a  living  witness  for  Christ,  and 
dying,  an  heir  of  glory.  You  who  are  seek- 
ing for  your  children  wealth  and  station  and 
applause — what  is  there  in  all  this  comparable 
to  having  your  children  living  for  the  glory 
of  God,  and  dying  with  the  voice  of  triumph 
on  their  lips  !  Yes,  indeed,  even  under  such 
heavy  afflictions,  God  honors  the  parents 
whom  he  calls  to  endure  such  sorrow.  I 
know  that  you  have  been  sorely  tried.  But, 
after  all,  are  you  not  most  fully  compen- 
sated ?  Look  at  what,  by  God's  grace,  he 
was.  There  is  not  a  blot  to  darken  the 
bright  images  which  memory  treasures  in 
your  hearts.  And  the  sweet  perfume  which 
his  presence  shed  forth,  will  it  not  linger 
through  your  dwelling  in  unalloyed  sweet- 


50  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

ness  ?  Look  at  what  he  is !  a  blest  spirit 
at  rest  in  the  bosom  of  his  God.  Would 
you  then  bring  him  back  again  ?  Would 
you  now  wish  that  one  drop  of  his  bitter  cup 
had  been  extracted  ?  Or  would  you  desire 
that  he  might  have  glorified  Christ's  grace 
the  less — so  that  your  hearts  might  have 
been  spared  these  agonies  ?  It  is  not  every 
one  whose  child  God  honors  thus — to  speak 
forth  the  triumphs  of  faith  in  a  dying  hour. 
Praise  God  then,  that  he  committed  such  a 
jewel  to  your  keeping.  Praise  God  that  he 
permitted  your  eyes  to  see  it  glow  with 
heavenly  lustre,  in  the  purifying  fire  of  trial. 
Praise  Him  that  he  has  gathered  it  all 
resplendent  to  reflect  His  own  blessed  image 
for  ever  in  heaven. 

Let  me  adduce  this  bright  example  as  the 
positive  proof,  that  early  dawning  and  gra- 
dually growing  piety  is  as  genuine — yes,  and 
may  be  as  productive — as  the  piety  which 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  51 

begins  with  riper  years.  There  seems  often 
to  be  a  doubt  on  this  point.  On  the  one 
side,  there  are  two  considerations  which 
throw  an  attractiveness  around  conversion 
in  mature  life.  The  one  is,  that  the  verv 
contrast,  between  the  life  before  and  the  Hfe 
alter  conversion,  tends  to  magnify  the  grace 
of  God.  The  druniiard  becomes  sober — the 
man  of  the  world  becomes  the  self-denying 
Christian.  All  was  darkness,  and  behold, 
suddenly  the  light  of  day  has  sprung  upon 
the  night.  Again ;  the  difference  affords 
favorable  opportunity  to  pass  judgment  upon 
one's  real  condition — the  man  can  remember 
and  say,  "  I  was  blind — now  I  see."  On  the 
other  hand,  the  very  circumstances  of  child- 
ren's piety  prejudices  us  against  very  early 
conversions.  We  are  not  in  a  very  favora- 
ble position  to  judge.  The  child,  though  a 
pious  child,  is  a  child  still.  We  do  not  enter 
into  his  feelings — we  do  not  always  see, 
therefore,  the  clear  evidence  of  grace.     And 


52  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

again,,  this  gradual  dawning  light,  by  its  very 
nature,  prevents  our  detection  of  the  moment 
when  it  arose.  The  child  himself,  now 
become  a  man,  recollects  almost  nothing  of 
his  earliest  years — hence  he  can  relate 
nothing.  All  that  he  can  say  is,  I  see  the 
beauty  of  Christ  now,  and  I  love  him  in 
sincerity. 

For  these  reasons,  some  are  rashly  pre- 
judiced against  such  conversions.  Nay, 
some  of  the  subjects  of  such  conversion  are 
themselves  thrown  often  into  doubt. 

Now  I  bring  you,  my  hearers,  to  this 
witness  for  God.  Here  was  one  who  loved 
prayer  always  ;  having  ever  a  regard  for 
God's  word,  a  hatred  to  sin,  a  love  for  Christ 
and  his  people,  and  avoiding  everything 
that  was  evil  almost  from  his  cradle.  The 
child  in  everything  was  but  the  "  father  of 
the  man." 

Now,  was  not  his  conversion  genuine  ? 
Did  not  the  grace  of  God  in  him  sustain  the 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  53 

sharpest  trials  ?  Was  there  anything  in  life 
or  in  death  to  which  the  power  of  Christ  in 
him  was  not  equal  ?  And  yet  you  see  he 
was  doubtful  as  to  the  time  when  the  Sun  of 
righteousness  dawned  upon  him.  Let  me 
urge  you  then,  Christian  parents,  Sabbath 
school  teachers,  look  and  long  for  early 
piety  in  your  children.  Cherish  and  draw 
forth  the  early  buds  of  promise.  Do  not  be 
discouraged  because  the  appearance  is  but 
weak.  The  tender  "  blade  "  that  first  bursts 
through  the  earth,  is  fragile  in  the  extreme. 
As  yet,  all  is  but  promise — there  is  little 
appearance  of  growth,  it  may  be  scarcely  of 
life,  and  yet  the  power  of  God  is  there,  or  it 
never  would  have  sprung  into  life  at  all. 
First  must  be  "the  blade,  then  the  ear,  then 
the  full  corn  in  the  ear."  Water  it  and  till 
it,  and  it  shall  bear  you  fruits  of  increase. 
My  hearers,  let  us  take  comfort  in  this 
gradual   progress.      The    broad   river   that 

began  in  the  streamlet  of  the  mountain,  may 

5* 


54  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

run  as  deep  and  its  waters  be  as  rapid,  as 
it  goes  from  strength  to  strength,  and  its 
end  in  the  ocean  be  as  peaceful — as  the  broad, 
calm  lake,  that  springs  up  in  the  hills,  and 
which  without  any  entrance  is  always  broad 
and  full,  you  know  not  how. 

I  close  with  an  address  to  one  other  class 
of  my  hearers.  Young  men,  what  have  you 
to  say  to  this  ?  I  have  a  special  claim  to  your 
hearing.  Our  friend  was  young — a  young 
man  like  yourselves  ;  he  was  also  one  of  you. 
You  have  heard  his  voice  from  your  choir, 
leading  your  devotions  in  the  sanctuary — he 
has  now  exchanged  his  seat  here  for  one  in 
the  sweet  choir  of  heaven.  I  bring  you 
to  view  the  life  and  death  of  this  young 
Christian  to  prove  to  you  the  glory,  the 
sustaining  power  of  the  religion  of  Jesus. 
Dare  you  stand  upon  his  grave  and  say  that 
Heaven  is  not  a  reality,  or  that  the  power 
of  faith  in  Christ  Jesus  is  a  fable  ?  You  are 
buoyant    with    the    expectations    of    life's 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  55 

charms.  So  was  he.  The  world  offers  its 
every  inducement,  to  bind  you  to  its  inter- 
ests. So  it  did  to  him.  You  are  young  and 
strong ;  passion  is  impetuous  ;  and  death  is  at 
a  distance.  So  it  was  for  years  to  him.  And 
what  is  the  testimony  which  his  experience 
now  addresses  to  you  from  the  grave  ?  You 
have  tried  the  world.  He  tried  the  world, 
and  Christ  also,  and  what  is  his  living  and 
dying  testimony ?  "I  count  all  things  but 
loss  for  the  excellency  of  the  knowledge  of 
Christ  Jesus  my  Lord.  For  whom  I  have 
suffered  the  loss  of  all  things,  and  do  count 
them  as  nothing  that  I  may  win  Christ,  and 
know  the  power  of  his  resurrection,  and  the 
fellowship  of  his  sufferings — that  when  Christ, 
who  is  my  life,  may  appear,  then  I  also  may 
appear  with  him  in  glory." 

Young  man !  you  will  have  trials  as  he 
had  ;  you  will  need  a  support  as  much  as  he. 
You,  too,  must  die.  Now  gather  together 
all  the  world  can  give  you,  after  a  life  of 


56  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

devotion  to  it,  and  what  can  it  afford  com- 
pared with  the  gain  of  that  servant  of  God  ? 
What  are  your  most  elevated  aims  to  the 
glory  of  living  and  dying  for  Christ  ?  What 
comfort  in  trial  will  it  give  you,  in  all  the 
round  of  its  resources,  like  the  comfort  of 
having  your  heart  stayed  upon  God  ? 
Where  will  you  get  triumph  on  a  dying  bed, 
like  his  who  commits  his  soul  to  sleep,  say- 
ing, "  Lord  Jesus,  receive  my  spirit  ?"  Look 
at  that  suffering,  rejoicing  saint,  and  tell  me, 
whether  there  is  not,  after  all,  something 
really  covetable  in  a  life  of  prayer  and  piety, 
and  a  death  of  peace  ?  Is  it — is  it  really 
undignified,  unmanly,  to  serve  God  while 
you  live,  and  to  rest  in  God  when  you  die  ? 
This  Saviour  may  be  yours  as  well  as  his. 
You  have  the  same  invitations,  the  same 
promises.  You  may  know  all  that  he  knew 
of  the  nobleness  of  a  life  for  Christ.  You 
may  feel  as  he   did,  in  all  your  trials,  the 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAM.  57 

sweetness  of  communion  with  God,  as  of 
a  child  with  a  father  :  and  the  light  of  the 
cross  may  shed  its  rays  over  your  dying 
bed,  as  it  did  over  his.  You  may  bid  the 
last  farewell  with  eyes  radiant  with  hope, 
and  comfort  mourning  friends  with  the 
consolation  that  you  are  at  rest.  In  a  word, 
strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  it  may  be  as 
really  true  of  you  as  it  was  of  him,  that  "to 
live  is  Christ  and  to  die  is  gain." 

Will  you,  then,  make  this  Jesus  your 
friend  ?  Will  you  hear  Christ's  voice  plead- 
ing with  you  from  the  grave  of  his  servant, 
"  who  being  dead,  yet  speaketh  ?"  Will  you 
hear  that  spirit,'  looking  down  on  you  from 
heaven,  and  urging  you  to  know  the  great 
peace  of  beheving  in  Jesus  ? 

Would,  my  young  friends,  that  these 
dying,  rejoicing  words,  "  Precious  Jesus," 
might  tempt  you  to  make  the  "  pearl  of  great 
price  "  your  own !  I  have  no  higher  prayer 
for  you  than  this — "  May  your  death  be  the 


58  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

death  of  the  righteous,  and  may  your  last 
end  be  Hke  his." 


The    following   are    the    Hymns    (hat    were    sung    on 
the  occasion. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  brother ! 

We  will  not  weep  for  thee  ; 
For  thou  art  now  where  oft  on  earth, 

Thy  spirit  longed  to  be. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  brother ! 

Thy  toils  and  cares  are  o'er  ; 
And  sorrow,  pain,  and  suff'ring  now 

Shall  ne'er  distress  thee  more. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  brother ! 

Thy  sins  are  all  forgiven, 
And  saints  in  light  have  welcomed  thee 

To  share  the  joys  of  heaven. 

Thou  art  gone  to  thy  rest,  brother ! 

Death  had  no  sting  ior  thee  ; 
Thy  dear  Redeemer's  might  did  gain 

For  thee  the  victory. 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  59 

Friend  after  friend  departs  ; 

Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 
There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts, 

That  finds  not  here  an  end  ! 
Were  this  frail  world  our  final  rest, 

Living  or  dying  none  were  blest. 

Beyond  the  flight  of  time, 

Beyond  the  reign  of  death, 
There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime 

Where  life  is  not  a  breath  ; 
Nor  life's  affections  transient  fire. 

Whose  sparks  fly  upward  and  expire. 

There  is  a  world  above. 

Where  parting  is  unknown  ; 
A  long  eternity  of  love. 

Formed  for  the  good  alone  ; 
And  faith  beholds  the  dying  here 

Translated  to  that  glorious  sphere. 

Thus  star  by  star  declines, 

Till  all  are  passed  away  ; 
As  morning  high  and  higher  shines 

To  pure  and  perfect  day : 
Nor  sink  those  stars  in  empty  nigiil. 

But  hide  themselves  in  heaven's  own  light. 


60  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

Why  do  we  mourn  departing-  friends  1 
Or  shake  at  death's  alarms  ? 

'T  is  but  the  voice  that  Jesus  sends 
To  call  them  to  his  arms. 

The  graves  of  all  his  saints  he  blessed, 
And  softened  every  bed ; 

Where  should  the  dying  members  rest 
But  with  their  dying  head  1 

Thence  he  arose,  ascending  high, 
And  shewed  our  feet  the  way  ; 

Up  to  the  Lord  our  flesh  shall  fly 
At  the  great  rising  day. 

Then  let  the  last  loud  trumpet  sound, 
And  bid  our  kindred  rise. 

Awake,  ye  nations  under  ground. 
Ye  saints,  ascend  the  skies. 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  61 

NOTE. 

From  the  American  Republic. 

American  Surgery. 

The  world  may  be  challenged  for  a  superior  exhibition 
of  surgical  skill,  than  is  so  graphically  described  in  the 
following  communication  of  Dr.  Payne,  Prof,  m  the  Uni- 
versity Medical  College  of  this  city,  which  we  give  below. 
A  professional  report  of  the  same,  over  the  signature  of  the 
distinguished  operator,  may  be  found  in  the  preface  to 
Townsend's  translation  of  Velpeau's  Surgery.  Dr.  Mott 
claims  for  himself  and  his  country  the  merit  of  having  first 
performed  this  operation  for  the  removal  of  an  osteo- 
sarcoma in  the  inferior  maxillary  bone. 

"  The  case  to  which  you  refer  is  briefly  reported  in  the 
January  number  of  the  N.  Y.  Jour,  of  Med.  by  some 
person,  who,  like  myself,  was  present  at  the  operation. 
The  subject  is  there  stated  to  have  been  '  a  fine  intelligent 
young  man,  whose  heroic  deportment  greatly  facilitated 
the  operation.'  But  there  was  something  in  the  case  of 
Mr.  Baker  which  certainly  better  deserved  the  encomium  of 
'  heroic,'  than  anything  I  had  ever  before  seen  or  heard  of, 
or  even  imagined  as  within  the  compass  of  human  for- 
titude. 

"  To  appreciate  properly  the  '  heroic  deportment '  of 
young  Baker,  you  must  imagine  yourself  to  have  been  a 
spectator  ;  follow  the  able  surgeon  in  all  the  capital  steps, 
and  in  all  the  minor  details  of  the  operation,  and  watch 
attentively  the  '  deportment '  of  the  subject.    He  was  laid 

6 


62  LIFE    OR    DEATH, 

at  a  convenient  elevation  upon  a  table,  his  feet  crossed 
upon  eacli  other,  and  his  hands  lapped.  I  mention  this 
position,  because  he  did  not  move  his  feet,  nor  displace  his 
hands  during  the  operation. 

"  Now  observe  the  operator  ;  first  making  a  long  and 
deep  incision  amongst  the  muscles  of  the  neck,  then  tearing 
his  way  down  to  the  carotid  artery,  and  throwing  and 
tying  the  ligature.  It  was,  in  itself,  one  of  the  most  capital 
operations  in  surgery ;  but,  owing  to  the  dexterity  with 
which  it  was  performed,  and  with  an  operation  still  before 
us  far  more  difficult,  and  tedious,  and  dangerous,  this  grand 
step  towards  the  exsection  of  the  jaw  lost  much  of  its 
usual  interest  to  the  sufferer;  who,  however,  sustained  it 
without  the  slightest  evidence  of  pain. 

"  Ne.xt  came  the  circular  incision,  reaching  all  the  way 
from  the  joint  of  the  maxillary  bone,  down  along  its  lower 
edge,  up  to  the  middle  of  the  chin.  This  was  done  by  one 
rapid,  immense  sweep  of  the  knife  ;  but  there  remained  the 
same  imperturbable  composure  of  the  patient.  Not  a  sigh, 
not  a  groan  escaped  ;  no  muscle  moved — the  very  eye  did 
not  wink.  Then  followed,  as  you  may  well  suppose,  a 
prolonged,  tedious,  painful  dissection,  in  which  it  became 
necessary  to  exasperate  the  suffering  by  securing  many 
bleeding  vessels ;  till,  finally,  the  operator  was  ready  for 
his  saw.  But  nothing  had  yet  happened  to  elicit  a  single 
manifestation  that  the  patient  was  not  in  a  profound  slum- 
ber, excepting  that  his  eyes  were  open  and  that  he  occa- 
sionally swallowed. 

"  But,  before  sawing  the  bone  at  the  middle  of  the  chin, 
it  was  necessary  to  remove  one  of  the  incisor  teeth,  and 
this  was  so  firmly  rooted  that  a  straight  forceps  slipped  in 
the  hand  of  a  capable  assistant.     Another  pull,  however, 


VALUABLE    TO    THE    CHRISTIAN.  63 

brought  with  it  the  tooth;  but  in  neither  attempt  was 
there  any  more  indication  of  suffering  than  in  drawing  a 
nail  from  a  board. 

"  Then  came  the  process  of  sawing,  and  this  was  calcu- 
lated to  greatly  annoy  the  patient  from  a  slight  accident 
which  happened  to  the  saw  and  which  prolonged  this  part 
of  the  operation.  Still,  however,  the  same  '  heroic  deport- 
ment '  distinguished  the  patient  forbearance  of  the  sufferer, 
the  same  unexampled  complacency  continued  to  mark 
every  lineament  of  his  face,  his  very  eye  displayed  nothing 
but  gentleness,  softness,  and  calm  resignation. 

"  The  bone  being  separated  at  the  chin,  the  dissection 
was  resumed  amongst  the  important  parts ;  and  though 
conducted  with  all  possible  skill  and  rapidity,  it  was 
necessarily  tedious,  as  well  as  hopelessly  painful,  and  there- 
fore, still  calculated  to  try  the  firmness  of  the  stoutest  heart. 
A  groat  extent  of  all  kinds  of  tissues  were  divided,  and  of 
course,  no  small  proportion  of  nerves.  Bleeding  vessels 
continued  to  be  secured,  the  difficult  division  of  the  articu- 
lating ligaments  performed  with  as  much  fecility  as  its 
difficulties  would  admit ;  and  after  the  removal  of  the 
jaw,  remaining  portions  of  diseased  muscle,  &c.,  were  cut 
away,  and  wliich  tended  not  a  little  to  embarrass  that 
'  heroic  deportment'  which  had  marked  every  stage  of  this 
great  and  triumphant  operation. 

"  From  its  beginning  to  its  ending,  which  occupied  one 
hour  and  a  half  after  the  first  incision,  till  the  final  extirpa- 
tion of  all  the  diseased  mass,  the  sufferer  did  not  manifest 
the  slightest  evidence  of  pain,  or  of  impatience,  or  of  fatigue, 
either  by  language,  gesture,  expression  of  countenance, 
winking,  groaning,  sighing,  or  any  other  imaginable  method 
by  which  the  niesmerite  might   be  disposed  to  evade  the 


64  LIFE    OR    DEATH,  ETC. 

overwhelming  rebuke  which  the  recital  of  this  case  cannot 
fail  to  inflict  on  his  love  of  the  marvellous,  or  his  love  of 
mischief,  or  his  yet  more  culpable  designs  on  human 
credulity. 

"  I  have  said  that  there  was  something  physiologically 
interesting  in  the  foregoing  case,  beyond  its  simple  merit  of 
an  '  heroic  deportment,'  and  that  it  goes  to  the  very  depths 
of  mesmeric  assurance  and  duplicity.     It  was  this  : 

"  On  feeling  the  pulse  of  the  patient  twice  during  the 
operation  (the  last  time  after  the  lapse  of  an  hour),  I  found 
it  calm,  undisturbed,  and  with  about  the  same  frequency  it 
had  before  the  operation  was  begun. 

"  Thus  ended  an  operation,  unequalled  in  the  annals  of 
surgery  ;  alike  triumphant  to  the  surgeon,  to  American 
genius,  to  the  admirable  subject,  to  the  cause  of  truth,  of 
morality,  and  of  sound  religion. 

"  I  remain,  very  truly, 

"  Your  friend  and  ob't  serv't, 

"  MARTYN  PAINE." 


REMARKS 

AT    THE    CLOSE    OF    A    SERMON, 

PREACHED  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF    THE  DEATH  OF 

MATILDA, 

DAUGHTER    OF    CORNELIUS    BAKER, 

WHO     DEPARTED     THIS     LIFE     AFTER     A     SHORT     AND    SEVERE 
ILLNESS,    DECEMBER    11,    1850. 

BY    REV.    D.    MAGIE,  D.D. 

PASTOR    OF    THE    SECOND    PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH, 
ELIZABETHTOWN,      N.      J. 


REMARKS. 


The  subject  of  this  discourse  was  the 
happiness  of  the  saints  in  heaven.  This 
was  contemplated  in  four  aspects — the  place, 
the  character,  the  society,  and  the  employ- 
ment. 

After  discussing  these  several  topics,  the 
speaker  said  that  one  of  his  beloved  youth 
had,  within  a  few  days,  gone  to  that  happy 
world.  He  then  gave  the  following  sketch 
of  her  life  and  death. 

There  was  much  in  our  departed  young 
friend,  to  make  her  an  object  of  tender  and 
affectionate  interest  to  all  about  her.     She 


68  REMARKS    ON    THE 

had  a  happy  combination  of  both  natural 
and  acquired  qualities.  Her  person  was 
agreeable,  her  countenance  animated,  her 
voice  sweet,  her  disposition  lively,  and  her 
heart  confiding.  There  was  almost  too 
much  delicacy  in  her  taste  and  refinement  in 
her  feelings  for  a  long  stay  in  this  rough 
world.  If  I  should  attempt  to  describe  her 
as  she  appeared  when  I  first  saw  her,  and  as 
all  our  subsequent  intercourse  convinced  me 
she  truly  was,  I  should  say  that  everything 
seemed  blended  in  her  character,  which 
serves  to  make  up  the  sum  of  female  excel- 
lence. 

No  wonder  that  she  was  the  light  of  her 
^father's  fireside,  the  joy  of  her  mother's 
bosom,  and  the  centre  around  which  the 
affections  of  her  sisters  and  brother  and  a  large 
circle  of  friends  delighted  to  gather.  It 
seems  scarcely  too  much  to  say,  she  was 
formed  on  purpose  to  enjoy  and  diffuse 
happiness.     But  I  must  not  dwell  on  matters 


DEATH  OF  MATILDA  BAKER.       69 

of  this  sort.  Had  I  nothing  further  and 
nothing  better  to  say  of  the  beloved  one 
whom  we  have  recently  buried  out  of  our 
sight,  this  early  and  unlocked  for  death 
would  have  plunged  us  into  the  deepest 
sorrow.  The  crowning  excellence  of  this 
dear  one  was  her  earnest,  decided,  and 
growing  piety.  In  this  respect  she  speaks,, 
though  dead ;  and  by  facts  too  well  known 
to  be  forgotten  and  reminiscences  too  affect 
ing  even  to  lose  their  interest,  she  beckons 
us  onward  and  upward.  We,  who  survive 
her,  cannot  afford  to  lose  the  benefit  of  such 
a  life  and  such  a  death. 

She  became  pious  in  early  life.  Scarcely 
had  sixteen  years  passed  over  her  head,  ere 
she  consecrated  herself  to  the  service  of  God 
and  publicly  took  the  name  of  a  disciple  of 
the  Saviour.  In  the  days  of  her  youth  she 
remembered  her  Creator.  The  first  fruits 
of  her  affections  were  devoted  to  Him,  who 
loved  her  and  gave  himself  for  her.     In  this 


70  REMARKS    ON    THE 

respect  our  young  friend  was  like  Samuel, 
Josiah,  Harriet  Newell,  Mary  Lundie  Dun- 
can, and  thousands  of  others,  whose  memo- 
rials are  treasured  up  as  sacred  legacies  by 
the  church  of  God.  Her  first  connexion 
was  with  the  church  at  Rahway,  under  the 
care  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Imbrie.  Some  three 
years  since,  the  family  removed  to  this  town, 
and  she,  with  five  others  including  her 
parents,  two  sisters  and  brother,  became 
members  of  this  church.  Happy  influences 
surrounded  her  from  the  earliest  moments 
of  her  life.  Blessed  with  a  pious  ancestry, 
the  faith  which  so  elevated  and  regulated 
her  deportment,  and  which  shone  out  so 
luminously  on  her  dying  bed,  was  the  same 
faith  which  had  dwelt  in  those  who  had 
gone  before.  I  regard  her  case,  as  another 
illustration  of  God's  readiness  to  fulfil  all 
the  pledges  of  his  own  covenant.  A  child 
of  many  prayers  and  accustomed  from  her 
earliest  years  to  revere  the  name  of  her 


DEATH  OP  MATILDA  BAKER.       71 

Saviour,  she  was  soon  and  effectually  won 
by  the  attractions  of  his  matchless  love. 
Jesus  took  possession  of  her  tender  heart, 
before  it  had  become  ensnared  by  the  follies, 
or  corrupted  by  the  vices  of  the  world. 
This,  it  appears  to  me,  was  to  her  a  peculiar 
mercy.  There  was  that,  in  the  natural 
buoyancy  of  her  spirits,  and  in  her  large 
capacity  for  giving  and  receiving  pleasure, 
which  would  have  exposed  her  to  many 
evils,  had  not  her  heart  been  protected  by 
divine  grace.  Her  Saviour  saw  this,  and 
early  turned  the  full  tide  of  her  warm  emo- 
tions towards  himself. 

Again,  her  piety  was  cheerful  and  fervent. 
I  am  but  expressing  the  honest  convictions 
of  my  bosom,  when  I  say  that  she  loved  her 
Saviour  with  an  unusually  strong  and  tender 
affection.  Her  confiding  heart  appeared  to 
rest  in  his  embrace,  as  its  proper  home  and 
dwelling-place.  Not  that  she  met  with  no 
difficulties,  was  exposed  to  no  temptations, 


72  REMARKS    ON    THE 

felt  no  struggles,  saw  no  dark  days,  and 
never  had  her  hope  shaken.  The  contrary 
of  all  this,  I  have  reason  to  know,  was  true. 
About  two  years  since,  I  received  a  note 
from  her,  expressing  in  modest  and  delicate 
terms,  her  deep  sense  of  personal  deficiency, 
and  the  fears  she  sometimes  felt  lest  her 
heart  had  never  been  truly  renewed,  and 
requesting  counsel  and  direction  from  me, 
as  her  Pastor.  This  led  to  a  very  free  and 
interesting  interchange  of  thought,  both 
orally  and  by  letter.  And  never  shall  I 
forget  the  mingled  delicacy  and  confidence 
of  her  deportment ;  how  ingenuously  she 
opened  her  mind,  and  with  what  soothing 
power  the  words  of  truth  fell  upon  her  ears. 
All  this  was  the  more  interesting  to  me,  as 
she  had  made  a  profession  of  religion  in 
another  church. 

But  we  have  other  and  better  evidence  to 
rely  upon,  than  any  language  she  used,  or 
any  confession  she  made.     Her  Bible — her 


DEATH    OF    MATILDA    BAKER.  73 

precious  Bible — the  gift  of  a  venerable 
grandmother,  herself  but  recently  gone  to 
the  world  of  glory,  has  been  sent  me  since 
her  decease,  and  its  well  used  pages  reveal 
the  secret  of  her  inward  strength.  It  is 
pleasant  to  note  the  texts  marked  by  her 
pencil,  and  to  become  acquainted  with  those 
truths  in  which  she  had  held  sweet  commu- 
nion with  her  Saviour. 

Then,  too,  her  piety  was  progressive. 
She  was  not  of  those,  unhappily  too  nume- 
rous in  all  our  churches,  who  run  well  for  a 
while  and  afterward  are  hindered.  We 
have  the  fullest  assurance  that  her  path 
grew  brighter  and  brighter  to  the  very  last. 
It  has  been  my  privilege  to  examine  a  list  of 
what  she  calls  "  subjects  for  daily  prayer," 
and  I  must  say,  it  exhibits  a  maturity  of 
christian  character  and  a  comprehensiveness 
of  pious  thought,  unusual,  I  fear,  at  any  age, 
but  especially  so  in  early  youth.  Nothing 
seems  to  have  escaped  her  notice.     Sailors, 


74  REMARKS    ON    THE 

criminals,  the  heathen,  the  poor,  the  perse- 
cuted, those  blinded  by  sin,  missionaries,  the 
awakened,  the  sick,  backsliders,  and  scoffers 
at  religion,  are  all  brought  under  review. 
For  all  these,  did  that  sweet  spirit  speak  to 
her  Saviour  in  prayer.  It  is  delightful  to 
think  of  such  intercourse,  carried  on  for 
such  a  purpose,  between  heaven  and  earth. 

The  last  few  months  of  her  life  were  spent 
in  peculiar  nearness  to  her  Saviour.  On 
the  2d  of  November,  she  made  and  recorded 
a  resolution,  to  secure  one  whole  hour  in 
the  early  morning  for  devotion.  Her  wish 
was  to  have  this  season  before  breakfast 
devoted  to  reading,  meditation,  and  prayer. 
Nothing  scarcely  could  show  more  clearly 
the  strength  of  her  religious  emotions  and 
the  high  value  she  placed  on  the  privilege 
of  drawing  nigh  to  God.  Delightful  thought ! 
Here  is  a  young,  timid,  gentle  maiden, 
rising,  like  her  Master,  a  good  while  before 
day,  to  pour  out  her  heart  in  prayer.     The 


DEATH  OF  MATILDA  BAKER.        75 

mornings  of  the  last  few  weeks  of  her  life 
were  thus  spent. 

Finally,  her  piety  sustained  her  on  the 
bed  of  death.  I  have  witnessed  the  death 
of  many  a  precious  saint,  and  always  with 
feelings  of  lively  gratitude.  But  there  was 
something  in  the  sweet  serenity  of  this 
young  friend — her  entire  freedom  from  pain 
and  the  cloudless  prospects  afforded  her — 
that  rendered  her  chamber  a  privileged 
place  indeed.  God  had  evidently  been  pre- 
paring her  for  this  for  some  time.  Intending 
to  transplant  her  early  to  a  happier  clime, 
he  began  by  detaching  her  heart  from  the 
world,  and  fixing  it  as  never  before,  on 
things  above. 

More  than  four  years  ago,  she  recorded  her 
deliberate  wish  that  she  might  die  young. 
This  thought  she  repeats  again  and  again. 
I  mention  it,  not  because  very  important  in 
itself,  but  because  it  shows  that  she  was  no 
stranger  to  thoughts  of  the  last  enemy. 


76  REMARKS    ON    THE 

Think  not  that  this  beloved  friend  was 
the  victim  of  disappointment,  or  had  grown 
sick  of  life.  Not  at  all.  That  warm  heart, 
so  happy  in  all  its  domestic  and  social  rela- 
tions, and  so  alive  to  impressions  from  sight 
and  sound,  was  not  tired  of  the  world.  Her 
bright  eye  and  animated  countenance  testi- 
fied to  this.  It  was  her  Saviour  beckoning 
to  her  from  the  bright  world  above,  and 
saying,  "  Friend,  come  up  higher."  This  it 
was  that  made  her  wish  for  the  wings  of  a 
dove.  To  depart  and  be  with  Christ  were 
far  better.  Hence,  when  the  hour  came 
for  her  to  die,  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  die. 
When  asked  by  her  mother,  if  she  had  any 
fear  of  death,  "  Not  one  fear,  mother,"  was 
her  instant  and  calm  reply.  Everything 
was  so  quiet  and  placid,  that  I  could  not  but 
wish  that  all  the  youth  of  the  congregation 
might  have  witnessed  the  scene.  Without 
a  struggle  or  a  groan,  the  sweet  spirit  passed 
away.     It  was  truly  a  falling  asleep. 


DEATH  OF  MATILDA  BAKER.       77 

What  consolation  is  there  here  for  these 
afflicted  friends!  You  are  not  called,  in 
this  trying  hour,  to  look-  for  repose  in  the 
bare  sovere^nty  of  God,  and  thus  bow 
before  his  uplifted  hand.  There  is  more  of 
the  father  than  the  ruler  in  this  dispensation. 
Look  up,  ye  bereaved  parents  and  ye  fond 
sisters  and  brother,  and  mark  the  sweets 
which  have  been  so  abundantly  mingled 
with  what  otherwise  would  have  been  a 
very  bitter  cup.  You  are  not  called  to 
sorrow  as  those  who  have  no  hope.  After 
lending  that  dear  child  and  precious  sister  to 
you  for  a  while,  the  Saviour  has  said  to  her, 
"  Rise  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come 
away."  Would  you  hold  her  back  ?  no,  no. 
Her  language  to  you  is,  "  If  ye  love  me,  ye 
will  rejoice  because  I  have  gone  to  my 
Father." 

She  is  gone,  but  not  lost.     Matilda  is,  in 
one  sense,  as  much  your  child,  your  sister 

still,  as  when  her  voice  cheered  you  and  her 

7* 


78  REMARKS    ON    THE 

smile  gladdened  your  hearts.  She  is  now 
with  the  brother*  she  loved  so  tenderly,  and 
together  will  they  be  looking  out  for  the 
arrival  of  other  members  of  the  family,  as 
you  shall  finish  your  course  and  are  ready 
to  receive  your  crowns. 


Fainter  her  breath  and  fainter  grew, 
Until  she  breathed  her  last ; 

The  soul  was  gone  before  we  knew 
The  stroke  of  death  was  past. 

Soft  was  the  moment  and  serene 
That  all  her  sufferings  closed  ; 

No  agony  or  struggle  seen. 
No  feature  discomposed. 

The  parting  struggle  all  was  mine, 
"'Tis  the  survivor  dies ;" 

For  she  was  freed  and  gone  to  join 
The  triumph  of  the  skies. 


*  William  Edgar  Baker. 


DEATH  OF  MATILDA  BAKER.       79 


RESIGNATION. 

Let  us  be  patient !     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  grave  arise. 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors  ; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  death  !     What  seems  so  is  transition  ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian 

Whose  portal  we  call  death.   . 

She  is  not  dead, — the  friend  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection. 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion. 

By  guardian  angels  led, 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's  pollution. 

She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 


80  REMARKS    ON    THE    DEATH,    ETC. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air  ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

i 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken  i- 

The  bond  which  nature  gives,  J 

Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  t'nough  unspoken, 
May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 


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Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Libraries 


1    1012  01251    3661 


